This Charming Life (VO)
by Candace Flynn alter ego
Summary: We all know the story of Jax Teller and SAMCRO. This chapters, will give a different vision, although parallel to the original one. A new romance, with a girl very related to the Club, will make life in Charming, perhaps, a little different than what we thought until now. Passions and many mixed emotions. Do you join The Sons on this ride?
1. How we did come to this?

**Disclaimer:** Of the characters that participate in this story, only the female protagonist, belongs to me. The rest are the work of Kurt Sutter for the series SONS OF THE ANARCHY and all the rights and profits that come from it belong to him. I write this as a Fanfic, not for profit, giving all the authorship to its legitimate creator. My only intention is to entertain and share my passion for SAMCRO with anyone who wants to read it, as a tribute to this great show.

 **Note:** I've wanted to write about Jax and the club for a long time, maybe to make sweeter the loss of the original series.

I started this story a few weeks ago, in my mother tongue (Spanish), but I know there are many fans and readers who read and speak English, so I decided (with my few skills ... I'm sorry for the many, many errors) Translate the chapters of this story, in case anyone wants to read it.

My intention is to give another vision to SAMCRO, Jax and their romantic and family relationships, I will go more or less parallel to the series, but I will take licenses too!

Do you want to accompany me on the ride? Please, leave me to my reviews with comments, suggestions or anything! I would love to respond.

I want to thank Shantigal for his support and encouragement. Without you, this story would never have known another language!

 _ **THIS CHARMING LIFE**_

 _ **How did we come to this?**_

I just felt pain.

I tried to keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling, the succession of flashing lights that marked the progression down that hall. Concentrated, to avoid the nausea and ignore the terrible truth of what was happening. The warm moisture, in the form of furrows and reddish spots, flooded the sheets with which I had been covered, soaking my clothes, falling between my legs without any of my attempts to do anything to contain it.

—I'm here, babe. Can you hear me? I'm right here. I'm with you, I'm not going anywhere.

The ringed hand that tried to hold mine was cold and sweaty. For nerves. Because of fear. For not believing those words that he spoke to try to calm me down. My poor bad boy ... I did not believe either, so the tears did not stop falling on my cheeks, wetting my face with the same intensity that the blood moistened my thighs, taking, probably too soon for something could be done, the life I I had lodged in my interior.

I had felt it so little time ... and yet, I had loved it so much ...

I heard heels and an angry voice approaching. I tried to turn my face and shout that I did not want to see anyone, that I did not want to hear anything. To leave me alone with the agony of my belly pain, with the sense of loss that pushed out of my guts what had been mine and now they snatched me. The hand with the rings, again, grabbed me. This time, the voice was more sullen, directed to those who led that bloody table down the aisle of St. Thomas.

—Can you wait a moment? Just a second. —The rattle stopped, and in my field of vision there were no lights, no white ceilings, only the reflection of two blue eyes half hidden behind a black cap. Furrowed with concern, half veiled with sadness. —Darlin' listen to me, I'm here, everything's going to be okay. You have to believe that. They're going to fix this, it's just ... it's just a nightmare, babe, but it will pass, do you believe me? You gotta tell me you believe it, you gotta be strong, babe, okay? I'm here, I'm here!

Someone grabbed Jax away from the stretcher so we could move on. I wanted to tell him that I believed him, and even made him a conciliatory gesture, but I could not. I was losing my baby. I can't feel anything but pain.

—She doesn't even look at me —he said in a groan, in Gemma's arms, holding him tight so she would not run after me. —Jesus Christ, mom, have you seen that expression on your face?" She has never looked at me like this ...

She did not answer. She just kept holding him, while he covered his face with his hands and remained sunken, leaning against the wall. We came back to stop when I convulsed, someone said that the fever was rising and that was not a good sign. I tried to stay very still, tighten my legs, try to avoid breathing. I begged them to do something soon, I begged Jax for forgiveness, I begged for anything to happen.

—Tara! —Jax shouted suddenly, hurrying up as the emergency door opened. The surgeon looked at the sheet in her hands, then at the stretcher. She looked pale when she recognized me. His eyes asked a mute question that Jax did not waste a second in answering. —It's getting worse, the fever... and those convulsions ... my son, Tara. She's losing it and he's going to kill her in the process.

They touched and looked at me, but I chose to set my eyes on Jax, who leaned my lips against my forehead. His beard tickled me, but I was not in the mood to smile. Tara was saying something to the nurse, who took notes frantically. Gemma was on the phone, walking down the aisle and dropping a string of nasty words that caused some people, swirling around waiting for word from their relatives and loved ones, to look at her badly.

—I don't give a shit who he's meeting with, tell Clay to come right away. —Her tone dropped then, but I could hear what he was saying. —It is bad. She's losing the baby and she's ... it's bad, okay? Come. Already.

 _Clay... yes, let Clay come_ , I thought, in the middle of a nebula, would they have given me painkillers? I did not want to sleep. I did not want to be relieved of any suffering. If my son was going to die, he wanted me to hurt every second, he did not deserve less.

—Jax... the tension is very high and the fever does not stop rising. If we had to do a cure, with the medication and so on, he could compromise...

—Shit, Tara, I'm only a mechanic who pulled the school graduate by the nose, do not talk to me like a doctor, please.

The surgeon sighed and walked over to him. Perhaps I would like to avoid hearing what I was going to say, but I will tell you a secret, when you feel life going away from you, when that something, which is neither matter nor physical, begins to drop ballast and depart from the shell which is the body, with its scars and pain ... you know it. All of it. The most fearsome, most universal and dramatic answers come to you as magic. Tara should not have taken so much care of giving Jax this information, I already felt lost the only thing that mattered to me, what more could happen to me after that?

—I don't know what condition the fetus is in, Jax, that's the truth. The loss of blood suggests placental detachment, or perhaps worse, —she said, and as he spoke, the paler the face of the man I loved became. The one that was causing a torment that could not be avoided. —Her condition is serious and an intervention could make it worse, it is very possible that the baby is already lost, but if there is any hope and would have to choose ...

—You have to save her. —Jax voice was stronge. Full of rage.

I began to deny it hard, but Jax just hugged my face with her hands, kissing my forehead. I thought all hopes were lost, but Tara said, saying that maybe...

—Jax, a new, young life is always more valid, think about it.

—Save her, Tara. There is no discussion, there is no choice. It's her.

Obviusly, doctor Knowles was not agreeing with that.

—It's your son, Jackson.

—And she's my fucking life! —Gemma walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. Jax snorted, searching my fingers and twisting them tightly. I said no, but I do not know if the voice came out. He looked at me for a second, with the forgiveness reflected in his gaze, but I knew he had made his decision, and mine. Damn it out... damn for loving me in that irrational way. —I'm selfish, and I'm not going to live a life without her. If you have to choose who will live, Tara. She. Because if she die you'll bury us both.

—Clay will agree, —Gemma nodded, though no one had asked.

Then Tara made a gesture and the stretcher moved again, Jax followed me down the hall, whispering a string of plans and I love you sobbing. He wet my face with his tears, begged my pardon for that election, and swore that when I got well I could hate him with all my might if I wanted to. I raised my hand, and touched his face, but it was all for which strength remained.

The stretcher disappeared behind the swinging emergency doors, but before I lost sight of it, I saw Jax fall against the wall and her body slid to the floor, threw her cap aside and hid her head in her arms. I did not see if she was crying, but her posture seemed to scream. I felt so much... for him, for me, for the life that we had created together and that, apparently, we would never create.

—I'm damned, mom,— he say, banging his head against the wall despite Gemma's attempts to calm him. —Every time I try to form a family and have a son, a misfortune happens ... I'm a bad seed, and I condemn the women who are with me to live horrible moments. To suffer. This is my fault... it's my fault, and if she survives, I swear to God.. I'll leave her alone.

The doctors sedated me, and the last idea I had in my head was that, besides my son, I would also lose Jax.

How did we come to this? Well... it's a very long story ...


	2. Free men

_**THIS CHARMING LIFE**_

 _ **Free men**_

I would be lying if I said that I came to Charming for a simple matter of chance.

The small town of Southern California, which according to the latest census did not reach fifteen thousand habitants, had something to hook it up. A kind of magnetic force that made even those who had decided to live their life far from their borders, end up returning. Progress was making itself felt in the surroundings, shops and businesses prospered little by little, as if they were inlaid in a transparent dome that provoked that what was new in other states, took a long time to become a novelty in Charming.

A quaint and conservative place. A small town lost on the great map of America where life passed by without anything remarkable happening to most people.

Well... that's not what happened to me.

After spending my two and half decades of life with my mother, she decided that her obligations with me were over. Always suffering from nervous breakdowns, unable to find happiness or satisfaction with anything he did, he began to distance himself from me gradually. First only in spirit and then in physical form. His last bomb was to let go of my biological father's identity, a request I had been making without success since I was eighteen, receiving in return evasive, nervous comments and gestures of mortification.

—I doubt you want to meet him. And much less relate to him, —she told me, with no more information than a name and address more than twenty years ago. —I had a good husband and he raised you well at least the time you were with us. The other guy, your father... looks nothing like what you know until now, and the best thing that could happen to you, would be not to find him if you decide to go look for him.

I remained silent, remembering my stepfather and little anything in common that I had with him. He had died in a work accident and my mother was never recovered. Sleep pills, and more pills to stay awake, finished by admitting, speechless, than her relations with men was marked by bad decisions. However, she gave me the information I needed, and after leaving her where life tooks her (because we had never been close enough to tried to stop her), I went my own way.

Did I want to find my father? To that unknown man whose name my mother had never wanted to utter? Maybe I just need to look at him, see if by looking at his face and seeing his eyes, I felt rooted to someone for the first time in my life. Maybe he was just trying to fill an empty space and then move on. I did not know, I was just clear that I wanted to feel under my feet the ground under which my roots grew, to breathe the same air that my mother had in her lungs in the only time in her life when, apparently, she was happy. Connect with her somehow, even if I did not use much.

I arrived in Charming on a Wednesday. In the middle of a week I had nothing special. With my old Volkswagen Beetle green filled with a meager amount of luggage, because all my material belongings fit into a few bags. I had never felt attached to the place where my mother had gone after getting pregnant, just as I did not regret the loss of friendships for changing schools. I had always considered myself... something like a comet's thread, rocked by the wind, comfortable where it would fall until a new gust made me fly.

I was running from Charming in search of more, or perhaps, returning to the home he had never had time to miss. I escaped from many things, disappointments, lousy decisions and the emptiness of a person whose most basic family ties are as thin as a pair of shoelaces. What would it be like to settle close to my father? What kind of man would it be? Would I dare to look for him, stand before him and tell him...?

—Hello? Excuse me, are you lost? You are parked in the middle of a zebra crossing and this one is a shopping street.

I looked up from the hood, where I had entertained myself by consulting a pathetic map of the town and found myself facing a tall man with short, well-combed brown hair. He was wearing a uniform and a plaque. His kind smile relaxed me, although for some strange reason, I prepared myself to show a defensive attitude if necessary. I had never felt comfortable with established authority.

—It's David Hale, Deputy Sheriff, —he introduced herself, holding out his hand.

—Hi. —I squeezed his hand with the proper formalism, taking advantage of a few locks of loose hair behind my ears. —I'm sorry, I just got here and I'm not sure where I should go.

—Are you coming on a study or vacation trip? It is possible that you have confused yourself of town and in fact, you are looking for Lodi. I can escort you to the border if you want.

Escort me? I thought, with a grin on my lips. And from whom? Of the Girls Scout who sold oatmeal cookies? That place seemed so peaceful, that leaving the car standing in the middle of a half-deserted road was not bothering anyone.

—I'm in the right place. Charming. My mother lived here when she finished high school and she... gave me some notions about picturesque places to visit. —And possible parents to look for, though I kept it for the moment. —She keeps in touch with a friend of hers, she's on the road now and rented me her apartment. Sherry Floyd.

—Floyd? —Deputy Hale scratched his forehead. He held out his hand and pointed to a shop just behind him, adorned with large glass windows. A barber shop. —Sherry is the owner's daughter, she does not live here more than a few months a year. The available floor is just above.

—Great! I closed the map as a gesture of triumph. I tucked it into my shoulder strap and rummaged through the car keys. Then I'm in the right place.

Hale's grimace did not seem to agree with my hurried words, but he did not have time to express his disapproval. Neither did I move from the site. The dull, recognizable sound of the Harley Davidson engine broke the silence. It was as if a sharp knife cut off the quiet, calm atmosphere of that quiet street. Hale moved a few imperceptible inches, almost covering my eyes, in a clearly defensive pose that I ended up ignoring, because what was happening in front of me was much more interesting.

Four bikers surrounded the street and stopped, civically, at a red traffic light. They all wore a Harley, although the ornaments in the form of serigraphs differentiated them. The lollipops that looked, cut like leather vests, were embroidered with insignias that despite the distance, I could read: Sons of Anarchy. In the center of her back, the Death face smiled, holding her scythe high, waiting.

I kept my eyes on them, gazing at them all as a strange foreboding was born in the pit of my stomach. The two bikers that went further back seemed to be in their forties. One was white, with his half-hearted mane and sole, floating around. The other, lean and taller, had dark hair and something curly, visible in spite of the helmet. At the head of the march was a man with dark gloves and a square jaw. He was also wearing glasses and helmet, but he turned his head slightly in the direction of Hale and I could see his profile. There were badges on the front of his vest, but I could not read them.

Something urged me to stare at him for a few seconds, with a growing uneasiness on my chest, until the bike that was just to his right, a few feet behind, accelerated slightly to rise to his height. It was led by the youngest member of the group, a blond-haired man whose long locks protruded above the waistcoat. His arms were bare, for the white T-shirt he wore was short-sleeved. He had no gloves, but long fingers covered with rings.

The headman made a gesture and he turned his face in our direction. He nodded once, and when the traffic light turned green, he did not continue the march with the rest, but he made a turn in the adjoining street and was lost sight of... until the engine of his Dyna became audible to our left, Approaching to where we were the deputy and me.

—I can still escort you to Lodi, —Hale told me, before putting on his sunglasses and facing the newcomer with a pose that seemed more ready for a round than to chat peacefully.

A very white sneaker hit the ground when the bike stopped a few meters from us. He, without removing his helmet or glasses, smiled. Had very blond facial hair and his arms were marked by a series of muscles. He was tall and athletic, probably because of the number of hours he spent on the road, making miles on the huge machine he now held with the weight of his body, with no apparent effort. In one of the arms, engraved in dark ink, he was allowed to see a tattoo. A kind of memorial, a tombstone with a name I could not read.

I did not know it at the time, but part of my fate had just been sealed off. And I did not know either, but with the passage of time, the sound of the motorbikes approaching would become the only balm able to calm me in the worst moments. I would also learn, over time, that the seat of that Dyna would become a second home for me.

—I heard about the explosion in your warehouse, — Hale was saying, raising his left foot with all the intention of placing it threateningly on the front wheel of the motorcycle, but he thought it better at the last moment and not did. —It was planted with shells, something tells me it was a weapons depot."

—That's out of your jurisdiction, deputy.

His voice reached me deep, to places of my body that had not been seen by anyone so far. It seems absurd, doesn't it? How can the voice of an unknown man mean anything, just like that? I have no way of explaining it, I only know that I looked at him, totally inappropriately, and I let my eyes study him. He, that unnamed biker, kept exchanging words of intent with Hale, who were all answered on a plaque and a position that apparently had to be less respected than he should. She did not appear to be nervous or intimidated, in fact, smiling, with one eyebrow arched, visible and blond on the sunglasses.

With the closeness of the one I now enjoyed, I noticed the patch-covered waistcoat, and walked them one by one with care. Redwood Original. Vice president. Men of Mayhem. SAMCRO. All those words were still foreign to me, and yet... yet there was something in those letters that, like Charming himself, with that spell that I carried so implicitly in the name, called me. A strange sense of belonging.

—Who is the girl? —I heard the biker ask. The reference to me brought me out of my reverie, and I was opening my mouth to respond, when Hale again made a move to cover.

—She is passing. Her mother is a friend of Floyd's eldest daughter, Sherry. She's come to spend a few days.

I looked at Hale with skepticism. Few days? This was not a piece of information I would have given him. The biker scratched his chin, concentrating only on me. The certainty of his gaze made all the heat of the sun fall on me, warming my skin tightly. I was sure I had blushed, so I tried to look down and focus on anything else. I noticed that he was wearing jeans, a model that was quite wide in the legs. On one side of the belt hung a sheath, and inside, there seemed to be a knife. All a declaration of imminent danger. His complete appearance was a warning, a huge high voltage sign with an arrogant smile and leather cover.

I looked back at him, he smiled at me, then pointed at Hale.

—And she can't speak for herself, deputy? —I saw him smile, his forearms resting on the handlebars of the bike. He looked at me from top to bottom. He emphasized his smile, then nodded back. —Floyd is a good friend. Surely she loves to see you, especially if you have any news of your daughter, that passes here pretty little. I carry you?

—Careful, Jax, —Hale interjected again, pointing his finger at him. I dont' want trouble with civilians.

The blond biker looked at him, sly. He called him an assistant, emphasizing that word very much, which gave me to understand that there was a scheme of power that was escaping me. If David Hale was the assistant, there obviously was a Sheriff to whom he was accountable. But then... why that attitude to the driver? They looked like two dogs ready to mark the territory so that the other knew as far as he could reach to lift the leg.

The difference, I guessed right away, was that Hale was striving to show his supremacy. And Jax ... Jax just used it.

—I'm just proving to be a good neighbor, —he said vehemently. He shrugged and straightened the bike, taking hold of his feet. —And the offer was directed at her, Hale. Let the girl answer.

Hale did not like her addressing me, but I do not think it had anything to do with me, but with the fact that they passed over her person. Without knowing how, I had ended up in the middle of a pulse of force, and apparently had taken me as an excuse for a quarrel that came from afar.

—Chief Unser will retire soon, and I will take his place. —His tone was not threatening, but it contained many implications that I, as yet, did not know. —Unlike him, I will not turn a blind eye to The Sons, Jax. It's a friend's warning.

Jax started her Harley, which roared with a puff of black humor through the exhaust. He shrugged, as if none of it affected him in the slightest.

—We are free men protected by the Constitution, —declared, with such impudence, that made me smile.

With that look, Jax had the face of being everything except an innocent model citizen. The most intelligent thing would have been to decline his offer with education and let the respected member of law and order guide me on my first day in the pretty Charming, which apparently concealed more than I could see with the naked eye.

But as I said before... I have never felt comfortable sheltered in authority.

Jax made an eloquent gesture and I, who had not even checked if the Beetle was tightly closed, ended up walking the steps that separated me from the bike like the moth that flies towards the light, blind to any other external stimulus. With a smile, he settled into the seat to make room for me and with more grace than I could have imagined, I passed my leg over the Harley and straddled behind him.

—You do not have a passenger helmet, Jax.

—We'll just cross the street, deputy —He twisted his wrists, roaring the motorcycle loud enough for Hale's words to stay dim. —It will be a short trip. I'll take care of her.

It would not be the last time Jax had told me those words, but neither of them knew how important they were going to be. I, newly arrived and lost in a sea of secrets that I was not sure I wanted to discover, accepted the invitation of the unknown vice-president of the Sons of Anarchy because something that went beyond their evident physical attractiveness and that fussiness that oozed over the skin, pushed me to do it.

Jax was part of the magnet calling for me from Charming, and soon, we were both going to discover just how important that would be in our lives.

—Hold tight to me, darlin' —he whispered, before lifting his feet off the ground and accelerating.

And I did.


	3. Double Taco

_**3\. Double Taco**_

I knew Jax had taken the long way. It had nothing to do with what Hale had told me before, it was rather... a hunch. A sensation that invaded my body as soon as I sat on the motorcycle and the roar of the engine deafened reality.

With my hands wrapped around Jax's waist and wind-blown hair, I saw the tents and houses pass by as we drove away, devouring miles with the wheels of the Harley. I was not wearing a helmet, so we went out onto the freeway, but walked around the neighboring streets like an exhalation. He, with his leather vest and all the bad intentions shining in a smile that the mirror reflected me and I, in sneakers and without caring whatever the fate of that ride.

We stopped at a traffic light, and as I removed my right hand from the handlebars, Jax stroked my fingers, gripping her stomach. He turned his face a few inches, so that his voice was audible.

—Are you okay, darlin'?

I nodded, because the sensation that filled my throat and caused me furious heartbeat had created an immediate addiction.

—Do not stop! —shouted to make myself heard. Jax responded with a smile and a powerful acceleration.

—Those are the two words every man wants to hear in a woman's mouth.

The green light gave us permission, and we took the rest of the driveway with frenzy.

I had ridden on a motorcycle before, but there was nothing to compare to grabbing Jax as he zigzagged through the cars and moved over that tremendous Dyna as if he had been born to be seated at the controls. They were one, his Harley and him. With confidence, softness and the right touch of power, man and machine, biker and vehicle, they ran for Charming as if it were their private stroll.

After a few minutes, I recognized that we were coming back on our steps, and in the end, Jax stopped just before the barbershop. With the feeling of floating, I jumped down, looking at him with a dazzling smile that he gave back to me.

You have not been dizzy or complaining, you have not stuck my fingers in the ribs to stop it a little... —Jax took a cigarette from his inner pocket, and before proceeding, gave a puff, exhaling the smoke from his nose. —I have to say you're made to ride a bike, lady.

—What can I say? I was born to be wild.

Jax laughed so hard she ended up throwing her head back. The blond hair slipped from the edges of the waistcoat and the afternoon air, stirred him. I was frightened by the cravings I felt for caressing him, and I wondered, with his stomach contracted, what would he do if I approached and touched him.

—Is that why you're here? To make Charming your jungle?

—Actually... —I teased nervously. I did not want to discover too much, not yet. –I ran away of some bad experiences. A despotic boss, a somewhat individualistic mother and...

—Is that and for a guy? —Jax lifted his chin, staring at me through his sunglasses. —Did he hurt you?

—Let's just say ... I've covered up my quota of bad boys for this life.

Then Jax made a strange grimace. I'm not sure why, but it seemed to me that her slight smile was becoming... melancholy. It only lasted a second, then he threw the cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it with his white slippers. Carefully, very slowly, she lowered her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and stared at me, for the first time, her eyes.

They were blue, and condemned me just by looking at them.

—I'm sorry to have to tell you, babe, but I'm afraid your radar to get out of trouble is flawed. —pointed to himself, pulling the vest back to reposition it. —Because you've hit the mark as soon as you cross the border.

—Oh yeah? —I followed, believing that it was all just a game. An innocent flirtation with a handsome biker he would never see again. —Are you a dangerous man, Jax?

He smiled at me in a way that made my skin goosebumps, but I could bear it. The worst part was when he got off the bike and came up to me, his sunglasses hanging from the collar of his shirt. He extended his hand, rubbing my arm with such a lightness that all my epidermis reacted to the contact, sending chills to areas of my body very feminine, which apparently had decided to come back to life in the presence of such ... is a specimen An appropriate adjective?

—Dangerous? He came closer. And then he kept coming closer, until he lowered his head and I could see that his eyelashes, too, were blond. —Darlin'... you have no idea.

I was sure she was going to kiss me. Do not ask me why. A throb, an impulse, a pinch between the thighs... everything told me. My brain sent out alarm bells, and a second later, all my defenses pleaded for an immediate surrender. Was crazy? Was Jax's effect on me normal? I knew him from the equivalent of a couple of motorcycle laps and several sly smiles. How many girls had he caught with techniques like that? How many girls would have fallen? I would tremble, feeling the legs of jelly as I watched him go away for the next sunset.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that something was happening to him, that he was as attracted, as lost and doomed as I was. Romantic, right? Well... it was not at all. In fact, maybe if we had known all the evidence we were going to have to go through, we would never have come that way.

If Jax had had the faintest idea how much it would cost him to get off the bike, to touch my arm and bring his mouth close to me, he would probably have gone on his way, without looking back or stopping to refuel.

—You know? I think I'm going to call you princess, —said in a whisper. I was so close that his breath hit my face every time I spoke. He looked at my lips, then his eyes fixed.

—And this is because…

—Because you seem to be wanting the bad guy in the story to save you from the boredom of sleeping with the prince at night.

I saw the edge of his tongue moistening his mouth. I looked at his beard, and I was already wondering if I would feel it scratch the skin of my cheeks with strength or softness, when a lady, who was walking with her son about us, caught her breath at the sight of us and literally crossed the street without looking to get away from us.

I opened my mouth, confused, but then I realized that I was glancing at Jax, putting special interest in his suck. He waved at the kid, who gave him the most emotional gesture as the mother hurriedly pulled him away.

The moment had broken.

—So... will you be around for a while?

I nodded, begging the earth to open and swallow me, or at least to have a cold breeze lower my blush on my cheeks.

—Are you coming for something? —Jax asked, no doubt displaying an intelligence that perhaps many did not attribute to him. —All this about... the village of your mother's childhood, the companion of high school ... does not seem to have anything to do with you.

—I ... I suppose I try ... to connect with a part of her, even if it's from the past. —I shrugged. Why did he tell her the truth? Why was it so easy to do? —We're not close, you know.

—Actually ... it's a strange situation for me. My mother and I ... —Jax smiled, looking up at the sky as if he were looking for a kind way of expressing what he thought. "I'm her only son and she's ... very attached to me. And with very attached I mean ... very, very attached.

—I envy you. As the daughter of a mother who taught me to eat alone before walking so as not to have to spend all my time with the lunches and dinners.

—Damn, —Jax he laughed, then raised his hand in apology. —Sorry, sorry. It sucks, especially if you want things to be different. But believe me, you would not envy the shit I have with my mother. It's complicated.

As I did not want to delve deeper into the subject, for fear of asking questions about parenthood and what I was doing at Charming as the main instance, I decided to address the first point on my list of existential doubts. I pointed to his suck, unable to hold on to the temptation to ask. Ever since I'd seen them and him and the other bikers standing at the traffic light, the image of that grim reaper, the patches and those words ... pounded in my brain, as if trying to tell me something I could not understand.

—So... Vice President? — I asked, nodding appreciatively. Jax opened his arms, embracing himself with a feigned humility that, again, aroused very inconvenient corners of me. —And of what?

In response, he turned his back on me, pointing to the back of the vest. _Remember_ , I screamed something in the head. _Where have you seen it before?_

—Of the Sons of Anarchy, California branch. — The pride in his voice was palpable. Whatever it was, no matter what it meant to him, it was very important. Something more than an eccentric garment. A symbol of belonging. An union.

—And what is... or what are the Sons of Anarchy?

Jax's expression changed. His face turned angelic when he made a negative gesture, as if to say " _nothing to worry about_." Ja. In the future, whenever I heard that phrase, I would do just the opposite.

This is a personal advice, in case any of you, ever, is related in any way with a Son. Always, I repeat: _always_ , there will be reasons to be worried. And when you spend a lot of time without any serious worry ... then you should worry even more.

—We're just enthusiastic Harleys mechanics, —he said in a voice that shouted to the four winds, which was a learned phrase. —Motorcycle conventions, buying spare parts, swapping hard-to-get assembly manuals ... that kind of harmless shit.

Ja. Again.

—You seem to take it seriously. By... leather uniforms and all that.

—We are a club with history. We honor our founders and keep the spirit alive. We are a brotherhood. A family.

He took another couple of steps toward me, but his phone began to vibrate. A message had come in. With an apologetic gesture, he took it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. It was a strange phone ... an old model, with a lid and a button keyboard. It struck me as odd, though perhaps Jax, the motorcycle enthusiast mechanic, was not the kind of guy who was thrilled by a touch Smartphone.

Shit... I have to go. —He buckled his helmet again and climbed into the Harley, who purred when he turned the knobs. —See you around, princess.

He desappeared, at full speed.

I saw him leave, stop at the approach. I remembered Hale, his tension and his attempts to get me out of there. I remembered that strange conversation ... had they said anything about an explosion in a warehouse? And what could be a weapons depot?

—It seems too complicated for motorcycle enthusiasts ...

As the amusement was over, I crossed the barbershop doors and greeted Floyd at last. As he was an extremely elderly man with few words, he merely nodded when I mentioned Sherry and the rental agreement we had reached. He handed me the keys, indicating that the floor was accessed through the back portal, and he reminded me, while paying attention to the hurried shave to which he subjected a man who was seated in his armchair, who had to water the plants every pair of days.

That was it, so I went back across the street to my Beetle and began to travel, carrying my meager but heavy belongings. I put a couple of suitcases in the apartment, which consisted only of a bathroom with shower and a diaphanous surface with a bedroom and kitchen, separated only by half a brick wall.

I packed the boxes on the bed, trying to remember if I had worn sheets or if I had to spend the first night sleeping on the mattress. I found a couple of kitchen utensils in the cabinets, several dishes and a couple of cutlery. I left the refrigerator open to isolate the smell and close a calendar sheet, dated the previous year, to write down items of first necessity to buy in the first supermarket I found.

When I took the last trip, I parked the car and closed the door, letting myself fall to the ground, surrounded by boxes. The clothes were wrinkled and my cell phone was poking somewhere in the back of my purse, begging why the battery charged.

Among all the slope I had left to do, I decided to start with that incessant hammering of my head. Throwing everything I could find to the floor, I emptied boxes and bags until I found a worn shoebox. I stirred inside her, my heart racing as I knew I was getting closer to what I was looking for, and finally, when I feared that the rush of the trip was going to play the trick of forgetting what was most important, I found.

A photograph of more than twenty years ago, quite unfocused and taken in black and white, showed me three men who seemed to speak among themselves, oblivious to the objective that captured the moment. I held her with reverence, barely resting my fingertips on the image so that not even my footprints could blur that piece of my past. The memories crowded into my mind, uniting the few pieces my mother had given me to formulate a complete picture of that tremendous story. I did not have enough ... but something important to start.

—That's why It look so familiar to me, —I muttered to myself, staring at the men in the picture. The three of them wore leather vests with embroidered patches —so the I knew that I had seen them before, engraved in another vest. In... his vest.

Before me, and throwing a new wave of unanswered questions, was the only image I had of my father. My mother had claimed that she had been tempted to break it a thousand times, but she had preserved it to never forget the face that had cost her the trust placed in the man who had given me life. I had met him at a vulnerable time, he said ... full of silly illusions and blind confidence that ended with a secret pregnancy and a rush. She kept the picture, probably taken by herself, as a reminder not to seek comfort in anyone else.

Not even me.

I turned it slowly and read the words that were written on the reverse in neat black ink:

 **PINEY WINSTON, CLAY MORROW & JOHN TELLER.**

 **INDIAN HILLS, NEVADA.**

—My father is a Son of Anarchy. —I looked again at the scene, running my finger over the surface, imagining that I was touching those suckers and extracting from them the information I needed to fill the empty voids of a lifetime.

One of those faces corresponded to the name my mother had given me. One of them, he had to stay in Charming, living on the side that after taking that picture, he had fathered a daughter from whom he knew nothing. What would have been of his life? Would you be willing to meet me? And me? Was I ready to knock the closed circle of SAMCRO and make my presence known?

At that very moment, and as I experienced the anguish and exaltation of feeling as close as ever to the presence of my unknown father, Jax braked with his motorcycle at St. Thomas Hospital, facing his own dose of paternity.

The next morning, a little more recovered by the impression that I had supposed to stumble across the image of my father and the other members of the Club, I decided to start being practical so that I could move around Charming.

The first thing I did was go down to the supermarket that was on the same street. I needed to find a job, something that I could use part of my time, that would generate income and help me to go unnoticed, something like having a low profile that did not arouse suspicion. Before I stood in front of the man responsible for begetting the seed in my mother, I had to be someone useful to that community, I could not look him in the face, knowing the only reason he had thrown me on the road. I did not want to give him a desperate impression.

Above all, because I wasn't sure of wanting to reveal my identity to him, when I finally managed to find him.

My job options were limited, I had not taken my resume and I doubted they could ask credentials from my previous bosses. It's what happened when you fled, even if it was to try to go forward. The things that one left behind, sometimes they insisted on following us wherever we went, and I was not interested in some people knowing where I was and what I intended to do.

I thought, while holding some cereal with one arm and the basket with milk, eggs and some fillets packed in the other, that would ideally find a simple job that would keep me, somehow, near my father's radar. That we both saw each other and become accustomed to the presence of the other before lifting the hare would be just what I needed to get an idea of the type of man he was.

But again, with no demonstrable experience or too much personal information to offer... what kind of job would I get?

Just imagining myself sitting in an office, photocopying papers, made me sick.

I'm sorry Mrs. Winston, we can not accept your check.

The queue waiting for the box shifted and I was about to stumble with the person in front. The attendant was approaching a woman, who at that moment spent her purchase, bewildered. She, who had a petite, thin figure and her hair in her hair, gossiped and immediately offered cash, but apparently... she did not have enough for everything she had left on the tape.

For a few agonizing minutes, everyone present witnessed how the cashier was discounting basic necessities until the total became a ridiculous figure that the poor woman could afford. Stuffed, she carried her bag and left the supermarket with her shoulders low and her eyes on the floor.

—Give me of all that Donna has left, honey. I'll take it.

I turned my head from my position, three people from behind. The new client was in her fifties, wearing porcelain nails, hair with locks, tight jeans and a leather jacket. She smiled and had kind words to everyone who came across her and seemed really comfortable with the anticipation that her appearance had raised. He could have climbed into the box and started dancing, which no one would have found strange. She was one of those people who attracted attention naturally.

The two couples behind me kept whispering about her and the inadequacy of her clothes and attitude. But what the hell was wrong with them? She was going to pay for the rest of the other woman's purchase, in a disinterested and incredibly friendly gesture, how could they criticize her for that? Southern hospitality... I thought, smiling a little smile in the direction of the box, that should be a good example.

When I finally left the supermarket with my bags, there was no trace of Donna or the good Samaritan. The sun was high and life made its way into the shopping streets. I took things to the apartment above the barbershop and when I went downstairs I ran into Charming Sheriff Wayne Unser, who was freshly shaved by Floyd's deft hands.

—So it's you? —He asked me with a smile, putting on aviator sunglasses to protect himself from the clarity. "Floyd told me that he'd finally rented Sherry's old apartment.

—I'll be here for a few weeks. Looking for my roots and... all that.

Unser nodded, though I could not read whether his expression was annoying or curious. Apparently, Charming did not like outsiders, even though they had no intention of causing trouble.

—I'm looking for a job, — I said at once, thinking that the chief of police should have some general information on the business situation of the town he ran. —I can do whatever... housework, childcare, accounting review... anything. It will be eventual.

He scratched his head, running his fingers through his bald head, then glanced toward the barbershop, exchanging a look of circumstance with Floyd.

—There's not much demand for that around here. The people of the town do not find it easy to trust the newcomers. With her hand on her hip, she glanced at the street, carefully assessing the information. —That you're Floyd's tenant speaks well of you, is a respected member of this community, but still ... who did you say is your mother?"

—O ... she ... just been here for a summer, after finishing high school. —Give names would lead to ... give more names. — And I did not want to reveal too much at the moment. Though perhaps... a push would finally lead me in the right direction. —I've been advised to talk to Clay Morrow. Do you know where I can find it?

The mention fell like a bomb, razing everything. Floyd set the scissors in the air, staring at us through the window. I must have had a fantastic ear to catch what I said, but I did not have time to analyze that, because Unser turned the body and faced me, imposing his authority despite the fact that I took out at least one head high.

—Who gave you that name?

—A woman in the supermarket. This morning. I said I was looking for a job and…

—Clay is the owner of the TM, in outside of Charming. It has lots of employees, I do not know if there will be vacancies for someone like you.

A sure thing: go in the opposite direction and do not look back, would have been less obvious than his words. However, and as it usually happens when we are warned about something we must let go ... my curiosity, only grew.

—Who knows? —I claimed, taking the keys of the Beetle out of my pocket and making a kind gesture of farewell to indicate that the conversation was going to remain at that point. Maybe I'm lucky.

I crossed the street and started, heading to the shop with my head fumbling with possibilities.

The photograph was so many years old that I expected substantial changes in the lives of those men, but at least I knew that Clay Morrow was still alive and in Charming, just as my mother had predicted. " _He will not leave that place ever_ " was all he told me, cryptic and little given to useful information, as always.

In fact, I knew so little, that I was unable to reconcile each name with the men portrayed, so even if I knew the name of my father, I did not know his face, nor knew anything about him. Except that he belonged to a club of motorcycles that, apparently, had a certain fame.

—I hope he's not disappointed that I drive a car, —I mumbled, nervous for an acceptance I had never intended to have.

I found the workshop easily. A huge sign indicated the name of the establishment in large yellow and red letters, located behind large gates. There was a row of motorcycles parked on one side, all black Harleys with serigraphs relating to the Sons, the Parca, and the acronyms of the Club. I saw a crane, a van, and several enclosed spaces, which I imagined would be given to the shop and office areas.

I parked and walked slowly, approaching carefully to the open doors, not wanting to make an intrusion but making it clear, just in case someone noticed me, that I was visiting. I craned my neck, astonished to see that, in the distance, there was a boxing ring and what it looked like ... a grill. A place of work and, apparently, also of recreation.

The images of the Club, the letters of SAMCRO and the disturbing face of the Reaper were represented on every corner.

—Are you looking for someone?

I was scared when I realized there was someone in front of me. A young boy, slightly shaking, his bangs falling on his forehead. The first impression was enough to define in three words: withdrawal syndrome. He wore a brown work shirt on whose front he could read an ID: Lowell.

He smiled at me, showing a pretty decent denture and a gesture of kindness that I thanked him for. He seemed nervous, but not for me but ... for something internal, as if the uncertainty were his natural state.

—Hello. I'm looking for a job and ...

Lowell pointed to the area where the bikes were parked. Two men sharing a conversation had just appeared. Apparently that seemed enough, because before I could even thank him for the strange indication, he disappeared in the direction of the workshop, leaving me standing there, without a single word.

With the sun in front of me, I walked slowly. One of the men was gray-haired, wearing sunglasses and slightly bent. The other, with black hair, was leaning on one of the bikes and eating a little chocolate in large bites.

I made gestures with my hand, but they were too caught up in their conversation to pay any attention to me, so I had to keep coming closer, catching a few strokes of what they were talking about.

— ... the stomach of lye. Goodbye DNA, —said the brunette, with a carefree gesture that made the other, shake his head.

—But what kind of fucking things did your mother do to you?

Confused, the Black-haired Son, he slowly denied.

—What do you mean?

—Hello? I interrupted, causing both of them to turn their heads towards me. Vests. Patches. Serious expressions of " _what the hell are you doing here_." —Sorry, I did not want to go in like this, the mechanic told me ... —shit, shit, shit. I picked up air a couple of times, gave my name and went back to say hello. —I'm looking for Clay Morrow.

—Are you a cop? —In the brown man's vest, he thumbed his mouth at the end of the chocolate bar was read Sergeant of Arms. I swallowed. Weapons? What weapons? —You do not look well, but the undercover never have it.

—Um ... I'm not a cop. I look for work and in the supermarket they told me that maybe here I could find something.

Arms crossed, wearing the big tattoos of his biceps, the gray-haired man smiled in my direction. His jaw was square and his body strong. He seemed to me a soldier, and by the age he looked, he probably would have been. It was not hard for me to realize that he was one of the guys on a motorcycle I had seen the day before I arrived, and he was one of the ones from the photo my mother had given me.

—I am Clay Morrow — he said to me, cutting my breath in confirmation of my suspicions. —and I don't know what the people told you about me, but I'm very picky about my workers. Do not be ofended lady, but you don't seem yo know how to remove a wheel.

—I know who to call to be remove for me.

Clay laughed and my own lips curved into a smile. He gave a sympathetic grimace, shrugging his shoulders at the other guy, who was staring at us in silence.

—What do you say, Tig? Do you think we could find something for the clever lady?

—I'm always open to a couple of new hands, If you know what I mean —said the Sergeant of Arms, in an obscene gesture that made me frown.

—Well, you can close it now, because that is not gonna happend. Ever. —I blurted out, prompting Clay to emphasize his smile.

—I like the girl, —he said, rubbing his hands full of rings.

Mi father likes me. Something in my chest fluttered, but I discovered, confused, that it was not pure joy, but... that it was mixed with something else. There was uncertainty, and as Clay took off his glasses and looked me in the face, a tense regret gripped me.

I knew who it was. And now, what would happen?

 **N.A.** Thank you so much! For mark this story as favorite, for de followers and de reviews. Please, send me questions, sugestions or everything, I'll be happy to answer

So… our girl is a Daughter of Anarchy, what do you think about that? What Clay thinks? And… What Jax thinks? We know all of that, very son. See ya'


	4. Fathers & sons

_**Fathers & sons**_

Aurora Morrow.

That was my full name, and it was very strange to say it, even if it was only inside my mind.

My mother had insisted on calling me Aurora for some hippy roll she'd kept intact from her crazy years of commune (and apparently from passionate, short relationships with bikers whose existence she'd then decided to forget). Well, to be honest, my mother was never the type of woman who preached that peace and love, she liked the comfort of her home too much to live outdoors, without a good hair conditioner or exfoliating mask.

But she came back pregnant from Indian Hills, and there was something she had to do to make herself believe that the fruit of that romance was worth it. That I meant more than a mistake. So she called me Author, the first light of day, the most beautiful and dazzling moment of light, which took place precisely after the greatest darkness. A kind of cry to the sky, a "this is my daughter and her arrival makes a lot of sense to me"

If you ask me my opinion, a big jerk.

It is worthless to have a deep and meaningful name if it is given to you for a woman without maternal instinct. Anyway, and as it were, now the surname box was finally complete, and I had before me, even if he did not know, the direct person in charge of my conception.

Clay Morrow, the president of the Sons of Anarchy, was my biological father. The guy who had made my respectable, stretched-out mother a bad girl long enough to lower her panties and then back up and out of Charming as fast as her legs would.

It did not seem like a very promising start to life for me, right? But that did not matter anymore. I had achieved my goal, my male parent already had face, profession and even hobbies known to me. In theory, my curiosity was satisfied, I could turn around and go home without remorse. What he had gone to do to Charming was done.

And yet ...

—Maybe some new business-man in the area is looking for employees, —I said to Tig, because apparently the conversation about my lack of work had gone ahead while I rambled on. —Who's in the cafeteria, or that little store of ice cream and trinkets… what was his name?

"It's been months closed." Clay touched her chin, and a ray of sun shone her rings. "I'm not very up to date on the progress of local businesses, but I know who we can commission him to find out.

I was going to stop him at that point, claiming the first thing that occurred to me so that I would not involve anyone else in the matter. I needed work, yes, but if I chose to stay in Charming my aspirations were to stay as close as possible to Clay, to know who he was, to know him better, to try to understand why my mother had not told me of him more than a couple of unflattering words . I did not aspire to make a career, and to employ was just a practical excuse. For the moment, Morrow seemed kind, willing to help the one who came to his door asking for it and, of course, respected by those who followed him.

As far as I could tell, those wearing a vest were under Clay. I remembered then that the patch of Jax put vice-president, and even cables at full speed, looking for a sense to all that subject. Did that mean Jax was the second on board? Did he respond to my father, made decisions?

I was sure that the Sons had a hierarchy, because nobody bothered to sew so many badges at all. The question was, why would Harley fans want rules and regulations?

I would soon know that the subject of SAMCRO was much more complicated than that, and I would come to understand, in my own flesh, how seriously all those men, and women, would take on the biker club. But everything in its time.

—You do not have to ask anyone, really, I do not want to waste your time, —I said quickly, since he seemed much more interested in what Tig said than in me. Something not at all flattering. —I thought maybe you might need someone to take the bills or hand over the keys ...

—My old lady lends a hand to us with that, but do not worry girl, we sure have something for you somewhere. —He smiled at me, showing a large, uneven denture. —Charming people would not respect me or come to me, if I could not give them solutions.

—And ... do you help ... anyone who has any ... problem?

This time it was Tig who answered me. He had some chocolate on his lip, for the chocolate he had been eating. His gesture seemed sympathetic, although he could not see the expression on his sunglasses. He waved his hands, curling his curly hair with feigned unconcern.

—That's what the Sons do.

Clay whistled and gestured toward the south side of the shop. A young man in a work shirt was getting off a crane. He dragged a car with the front moon shattered after a very brutal frontal crash against what looked like ...

—Oh my God, —I exclaimed, putting my hands to my mouth with an impression. —Is that a deer?

—Shit. —Clay rolled up, rubbing his forehead tiredly, as if he had been carrying a great weight for a long time.

Tig rested his hands on his jeans, looking with blatant pleasure as the young man who had carried the crane turned green as more and more looked at the broken body of the deer. Another man approached him, handing him a chain saw with clear intentions. They exchanged a few words, but I could not hear them. Apparently, the young clerk tried to resist the task, but without success.

—I'll bet you twenty that the rookie throws up before he pulls it out. —Tig pointed his finger at the crane, where the poor clerk was beginning to have arcades. —And another ten, he vomits again when he has to clean all the mixed. What do you say Clay?

But Morrow merely denied, surpassed by that. He approached the horrible car slowly, and raised his arms, trying to make himself heard above the sound of the saw.

Do not ask me why ... but I followed. Maybe the feeling of being close to my father became intoxicating, or maybe it had more to do with the fact that being alone with Tig did not give me confidence, in any case, I followed Clay, attracted by the macabre scene. I felt like those people who can not help but stare at the head of the poor deer, stuck between the glass wreckage of the windshield, with horns and everything, and whose eyes were already empty and lifeless.

A young man with pale hair and a very weak look, he would pull the saw's strap while he half-body inside the car, ready to cut the corpse to be able to start it from the inside. Clay continued to signal, and fearing to interfere, I moved a few steps to the right at the worst possible time.

The rookie saw his president and immediately stood up, losing control of where the saw fell. As a result, a stream of animal fluids flew through the air, going straight to my shirt.

In a second I saw myself covered with blood of dead deer. Fuck.

—Shit, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!

—Half Sack, stop that fucking machine right now!

The metallic sound ceased. I felt Clay's hand on my shoulder and I tensed. He looked at my clothes in a mess and then denied. The expression he gave the boy was enough to make the yellow color of the nausea lose even more tones.

Respect for the president, no doubt.

—Look what you've done, —he growled at me. —When a person just arrived in my town comes to me to ask for help, the least expected is that the shit splatter.

—It's all right, I really ...

But what was I going to say? That was the worst reunion father and daughter in history. That… Halk Sack, did not stop apologizing, but Clay did not seem willing to hear anything he had to say. He released a pair of threats that did not ring to anything coherent that one could hear between two civilized people, and then, practically, forced him to remain missing until there were remains of the destruction.

—You'd better not leave a trace of that animal — snapped, glaring at him that was icy cold even under the sunglasses. — And don't ever come up to the clubhouse with him.

The blood was starting to stink and I feared that the smell would never leave my car. I was about to announce that I was about to go into the washing machine, when Clay's arm came around me again, taking me away from the disaster, to a half-open gray door that, according to what I saw, overlooked the administrative area of the TM.

—Let's get something you can change, okay? I would not be a good neighbor if I let you out of my workshop covered in blood. —With an enigmatic smile, he opened the door, motioning for me to pass. —That asshole, believe it or not, controlled the new businesses that have opened in the village, if there are vacancies, he will find them.

—I think I'd rather avoid leaving anything in his hands.

Clay let out a hoarse laugh, watching the blood spreading all over my blouse. It smelled like a dead animal. This was humiliating on all levels.

—Yeah ... we don't let him have too many responsibilities around here. —He nodded, indicating a location unknown to me. —Someone will find you something clean to put on. Wait. And don't touch anything.

I frowned, but it did not matter. Clay walked away, closing the door behind her, leaving me alone in an office full of light clothing catalogs, motorcycle posters, and office supplies in a serious state of disarray.

I resisted for a few seconds, telling myself that I would wait without removing a single garment, but that room was closed, it was hot and the smell of blood began to make me dizzy. In the background there was only the sound of hydraulic jacks and the roar of the saw. In a moment, it seemed to me that Tig screamed something and then burst out laughing as the revealing noise of the vomit became perfectly clear. I grimaced in disgust, sympathizing with the poor Half Egg.

I was very close to vomit too.

I wandered around the small space in the office. Filing cabinets, a table with an old computer, an old rather colorless sofa ... little else. There were several tagged keys hanging from a panel, probably belonging to cars that were being fixed at the time. Although Clay had already closed the office before he left, I guessed that he would have gone to the dark door on the left, the building adorned with parchment symbols and serigraphs relating to the Sons.

Maybe a kind of meeting room, or a store for motorcycle parts.

When I got tired of turning, and waiting, I seriously considered sneaking out of the car and getting out of there, but somehow ... I thought it was wrong. Clay looked like a decent guy, overshadowed in making a good impression. Perhaps his insistence would come to something, and he would end up leaving me there with work, but even if he had only been marking a bluff, it had been pleasant to show such interest in helping me. That one of my two parents got so involved was a breath of fresh air.

Clay did not know who I was, and though I was not convinced to tell him yet, I began to wonder if his manner of being with me would change as soon as I knew the reality of our kinship. Perhaps she would react well, rejoicing in recovering a lost daughter whose existence she knew nothing about.

But perhaps the idea would repudiate him. With all his supposed good faith, Clay Morrow did not seem, with that lifestyle, very inclined to fatherhood.

The blood was still clogging, and I could already feel it wetting my skin. Disgust did more than shyness or decency, and I finally decided to remove my t-shirt.

—Fuck… —said to myself, using the wrecked cloth to cleanse my stomach and the beginning of my chest. Fortunately, I had decided to wear my burgundy bra, and what little I had put on it looked like a dark shadow, rather than a reddish stain. But it was possible that he would end up throwing it anyway. —I do not think anything worse could happen to me this morning ...

I did not hear the bike, nor did the greetings and voices. Distracted trying to remove the debris of dead deer blood from my body, I only noticed that someone had just arrived when the office door opened wide, revealing the tall figure of a blond, leather-clad man who He looked at me with wide eyes.

—Holly shit.

And I know it came from the deepest of his heart.

Jax held the unlit cigarette in her jeans pocket. He gave me a thorough look, taking his time and attending to all the details. The blouse stained with blood, the semi-naked body and the bra with lace on the straps. I would have wanted to die, for the earth to open, to swallow me, and to spit me somewhere far away from those blue eyes so that I would not have to endure ... would I judge myself? Would she laugh? Why did not he stop looking at me like he was making an invitation?

I gave an awkward step back, and although I did not scream, I was about to do it: I had nailed the office table on my hip. Shit. How ridiculous can a person do in a single day?

—Normally I burn several stages before start with the body fluids, —said Jax, who folded her arms as if she were. —But for a bra like that, I'm willing to pass from the typical initial postures.

—Very funny ... really, it's ... hysterical.

—What can I say, darlin'? I don't see a show like that every day.

—This has an explanation. —Jax smiled even more. Son of a bitch, he was enjoying it while I blushed more every minute. —Very good and reasonable.

—I did not ask you. —He walked slowly, only a few steps. —Whatever have done with you half naked in this office, it's fine for me.

I crossed my arms, to balance his posture facing mine, but it was not one of my best ideas. The breasts lifted me, creating the fantasy of an even more pronounced neckline. Jax's eyes flashed dangerously and ... I got deeper. I was not sure if I wanted to cover myself or to keep coming and discover for myself what I had left to teach.

The atmosphere warmed very fast, I felt a kind of fire surrounding us, like a sacred circle where no one else could penetrate us. Ridiculous. Absurd, and yet ... when he looked at me the way he was doing it, as if nothing could catch his interest more than I, that was just what he felt.

—Even if you suck, I'm glad to see you again, Aurora. —He reached out and his fingers brushed a strand of hair. When had he come so close? —All of you.

He had classy. Somehow strange and nasty… but classy anyway.

—You know, Jax? A gentleman would opt for two options, or he would respectfully turn around ...

—A man who turns his back on a naked woman gets another name around here, sweetheart. And it's not exactly a gentleman.

I let it pass, as I also overlooked that the posture of his body marked certain elements in his jeans in what I did not want to think.

—Or ... he would offer to give me a clean shirt to cover. —I raised my eyebrows, challenging him. He seemed to debate himself for a second, until at last he nodded.

—You're right. And I apologize for giving you the impression that I have no manners.

Jax's smile ceased to be kind or dangerous. It became predatory. Unbelieving, I saw him take off his vest and lay it on the back of the nearest chair. Then he tugged at the shirt, pulling it off his pants, and began to climb up her body, revealing a firm, flat belly, with clear skin and tight muscles.

She was undressing. Without prior notice or prior consent. And of course, without a blush showing him that hard face that was worn.

—What ... what are you doing, Jax?

—Give you a shirt, is not that what you asked me?

—I ... I wanted to say ...

—I know what you meant, Aurora, but this way is more fun.

He came closer until I could fully appreciate his blond eyelashes. He took my hand and led it slowly to me, whispering to me that maybe I wanted to help him take it away.

—I may have grease on my hands, —he said, with an innocent pout that no one would ever have believed. —We don't want to keep getting dirty, do we?

—Something tells me you're not a gentleman at all, Jax.

In response, he just nodded, lowering his head until part of his long strands blocked my vision.

—Looks like you're finally getting it.

I could smell the cigarettes in his breath. And maybe some coffee, but that was all. He did not kiss me, because Clay chose that precise moment to return. He had in his hands a work shirt that was covered with stains, which, of course, had seen better times. He looked at the scene, Jax and me, as if it were his daily bread.

He handed me the garment, which I gripped tightly as I stepped aside and then gave Jax a nod, which could have been from pride to disbelief.

—Really, son? Have you given her any time to tell you what's her name is?

—And what am I supposed to do? —With much practice, Jax picked up the vest and put it on her shoulders. —I came in here and he was like waiting for me. I do not usually reject gifts if they come from undressed. Besides, I already knew her.

With my shamelessness, I was ready to say a few things to that ... cocky biker, but it all lost meaning as Clay's words plunged, drop by drop, into my brain. How had he called Jax? Had he said ... son?

Son ... how would he be his father? Was Clay Jax's father?

So, Jax and I ...?

I denied it slowly, remembering the exact moment our mouths had almost touched. Jax was saying something about what we'd met the day before, just after the others had left and he'd lagged behind to talk to Hale. I did not pay attention to what Clay was asking, but he seemed very interested in the terms the sheriff's assistant had been employing.

—They have nothing, —Jax said in a whisper, shaking her head. —As far as they know, the explosion has been an unfortunate accident they can not relate to anyone.

Clay nodded, apparently satisfied with the sparse evolution of the fire in the warehouse.

—How is my grandson? —He asked, ignoring my presence and the look of astonishment I had left. —What did the doctor say?

—He will recover with time —And though Clay smiled, Jax did not seem inclined to let go of his excitement so quickly. —Need to spend several weeks in the toaster, until he's strong . He's endured the surgery but… it's still complicated.

—That boy will come out of this — Clay's fist touched her shoulder fondly, giving him a truly paternal smile. —He has good DNA, and he has shown that he knows how to fight for his life. He will continue to do so.

—I hope so. —Jax sighed, and his face showed a totally different halo, more serious and deep. Remembering me, he turned his body in my direction, smiling at me as an apology for having escaped me from a conversation he really should not be witnessing. —My yonky ex-wife consumed heroin throughout her pregnancy. My son was born premature, with a genetic problem of heart and guts twisted because of the shit his mother got into. He pass for a couple of surgerys last week.

At that moment, Jax's ease in telling me things left me blocked. That he would have punched me in the stomach would have been less shocking than a confession like that. Later, when things were different, that attitude, his ability to tell me everything, even what I did not really want to know, would be decisive for our relationship.

Jax never dropped things with me, because as he himself confessed to me at the time, he freed him to have someone before whom to justify his actions. Both those he carried out of his own volition, and those he made on behalf of the club. Putting words to what he was doing served him as payment and penance when he was repentant, or as a reaffirmation when he was convinced that he had made the right decision.

—Jesus Christ... I'm so sorry. —He was a father. Jax had a son, a newborn baby. And apparently, he was married too, or at least, had been recently separated. So? Why that attitude with me? By unhappiness? Infidelity? —You must be so worried... Is the baby okay?

—He will be. —Jax retrieved his cigar and lit it. He took a deep breath, exhaling the smoke, which filled the office. —At least until he leave the hospital and have to go home with an inept man like me playing father without having a clue.

Dressed in an immense work shirt on whose front was read "Opie", I did not think it appropriate to get involved in those matters. Jax's personal life had nothing to do with me, but something in his words touched me, touching my soul deeply. The need to comfort him became almost overwhelming inside me, and though I wanted to, I could not keep quiet.

There was much more under the body and the floors of bad village boy. Jax had a sensitive background ... and knowing it drew me even more. And it filled me with remorse.

—You'll learn, like all first-time parents. —I smiled, but barely returned the gesture. — You make several mistakes and after all, you learn. Or you could hire someone to help you at first.

Clay looked up, staring at us both intently. He pointed at me with his index finger and I felt his hand shake a little.

—That's not a bad idea, son. Someone to help you with the house and Abel. It's just what you need —Clay's gesture revealed a palpable sense of triumph, though I was not yet aware of the many reasons why the plan seemed so good to me. —Why not? An honest single parent who pays whit clean money of his job to a nanny to take care of his newborn baby. It's normal in these cases, don't you think?

Jax held the butt between her fingers thoughtfully. Whether or not he had taken a second reading of Clay's words, I was not clear, I was only aware of how he nodded, letting himself be seduced by the prospect. Of course, I would find out very soon that hiring a caregiver for a newborn child was a great way to wash away the money that came from the arms trade.

At that moment, however, Jax put her incredibly blue eyes on me, smiling at me and getting in the process that all the hair on my body had erected.

—Aurora ... are you still looking for a job?

And I, with all my being shouting the opposite, I nodded, letting myself be led by a strange and immoral desire that was going to take me directly, to spend many hours under the same roof as the man who, apparently, was my brother.

 **N.A.** Hello again! Here I am back, the girl finally has a name and her kinship with Clay is clear ... at least for her. It is to see how the other members react to the truth ... and how long it takes to discover the truth about Jax.

Thanks for following me, for making history as a favorite, I did not expect such a good reception! I apologize again for all the mistakes, English is not my mother tongue and I do what I can to give the right meaning.

I would like to read your opinions, ideas and everything, I encourage you to leave some review, please! Thanks, I'll be back soon.


	5. The blood of our children

_**THIS CHARMING LIFE**_

 _ **The blood of our children**_

* * *

 _ **Omniscient narrator**_

Clay wandered the halls of the Saint Thomas like a gale, sweeping away his presence with all that crossed his path.

Gemma saw him arrive before Jax, who was still sitting on the floor, his hands covering his face, trying to understand how his happy existence had given such a radical twist in a short time. As soon as Morrow's shadow fell on him, Jax lifted his head and sat up, ready to face the fight he knew would take place.

There was never any peace when they met.

-Where is she?

—They're taking care of her. They've taken her to the OR, through that door. —Gemma came over and touched Clay's shoulder, trying to appease the fury she guessed in his gaze. —She's getting the best care, Tara is doing everything she can to save both of them.

—So Tara, huh? —With his hands on his hips, Clay took a few steps toward Jax, who was still silent. —Is my daughter's welfare in the hands of that resentful ex-pussy of yours? Why not let her bleed in the middle of the aisle directly? It would be more humane!

—Tara is a professional. —Jax clenched his jaw, finding himself obliged to defend a situation that for him was not ideal either. —The shit between us ended a long time ago.

But Clay held up his hand, shutting out a few words that didn't matter to him at all. He smiled, staring at the ceiling, but it was not a nice, friendly gesture. When he looked down again, he pointed at Jax with a trembling finger and came so close that he almost hit his chest with the force of his reproaches.

—It's all your fault. You destroy everything you touch.

—Clay!

—This is between the boy and me, Gemma, you don't get involved. —Returning Jax all his attention again, Clay lunged. —This is what you do, isn't it, son? —You fancy a woman, put her in your bed, and don't stop until there is a creature on the way and both end up on the verge of death. Is that how you like relationships, Jax? Bathed in blood?

—Don't call me son. —Jax pushed himself away from the wall, positioning his body right in front of Clay, resisting the clashes and ready to return them. Longing for a fight that would take out all the anger that was consuming him. —And stop talking, because you don't know shit about all this.

—Oh no? Let me refresh your memory: Wendy, Aurora... and Tara, if she had not been so smart as to leave Charming years ago. Two of three, Jax, so tell me, don't I have reasons to blame you for what's going on? You're the direct responsible, and if she can not get over this...

—What, Clay? Will you take the advantage to take me to the table and take the patch off me? Will you use Aurora's misfortune to get me out of the club as you obviously want?

—Stop it, you two! —Gemma stepped in, but her words were worthless. The screams grew louder and louder, and neither of the two men present was ready to bend his arm. —Jackson, this does n't help! Think about your child.

—He doesn't think, Gem. That is why we are in this situation. —Clay pointed to him, once again, pushing his accusing finger against Jax's shattered countenance. —Why do you do it, son? Is it out of vanity? Do you pretend that the broken family that you suffered as a child can recompose itself by leaving sick children and mothers destroyed in your way?

—Stop calling me that!

Jax raised his fist and smashed it against Clay's cheekbone, which lost a step and nearly lost his balance. Touching his face, Morrow soon returned the affront, hitting Jax right in his right eye. He was less able to respond, and ended up on the floor, at the scream of Gemma, who dared not interfere now that the physical blows had arrived. At any moment the safety of the hospital would appear and then everyone would have even more problems to deal with.

—Do you know who I can call daughter? Aurora. She's mine, Jax. My daughter.

From the floor, Teller gave a nasty grin. He spat in the direction of Clay's boots and made great efforts to get up without lowering his guard.

—And you think you can forbid her to be with me just because you want to? You've only been his father five fucking minutes, Clay. And she told you once, you have no right to interfere with anything she wants to do. —He took off his cap with one hand, his hair disheveled. —Get out of our lives. Aurora loves me, she belongs to me, and her place, is with me. Even if you don't like it, you will not be able to do anything to separate us.

—You think I cann't do anything? —Again that smile, which spoke of cards under his sleeve that he had not yet used. —Blood is deeper than semen, Jax. I may not have been Aurora's father all his life... but I'm already here.

Jax threw back her head and struck her chest with his finger.

—I am also here. And right now, she's carrying my blood inside her.

Clay gave a cynical smile, empty of empathy. He lowered his head slightly, and put on his sunglasses to hide the cold glow that was beginning to fog his eyes.

—Are you sure? Because I think that... is very close to change. But calm, if we're lucky, we'll just need a little child's coffin, instead of two.

Blind with rage, Jax tried to run into him again, but Gemma used all her strength to stop him. He whispered words of calm to his son, claiming that if he was arrested for scandal he could not be present for Aurora, and gave Clay a look of reproach that he cared little about. Leaning against the opposite wall of the hallway, Morrow checked the clock and crossed his arms, looking toward the closed doors impatiently.

—You're enjoying all this, aren't you? Cleansing your conscience, throwing a shit over me that you have been carrying for a long time.

—Be very careful what you say, Jax.

—Or what? Will I have an unfortunate accident, just like Donna? —With a jerk, Jax let go of Gemma's arms, raising her shoulders and looking at the man in front of her with all the contempt she was able to show. —You can say whatever you want, Clay, and blame me until that old dry heart of yours stops beating, but the two of us, it's not me who kills women.

Morrow brought his hand to his back, causing Gemma to scream, however, instead of finishing that scene with the expected bloodbath that Clay had promised if that theme would come out again... he just dropped his arms, looking around the hall with indifference.

—You know what, Jax? It's possible that in the end of all of this, I don't have to interfere to end this... stupid romance that you and Aurora have. Maybe it's herself, when values her situation, who decides to leave you for good. After all, she has my blood. —he gave Gemma a single gesture, without changing the smug expression on his face. —Let me know when she can receive visitors. And tell Aurora that her father has been here.

Then he turned and left the hall without looking back.

* * *

 _ **Aurora PoV**_

The first time Jax and I slept together, it was not exactly an act of love.

With this I do not mean that there were no feelings between us at that moment, but that night was more an act of animal passion, something wild. We had sex with all the ingredients that comes with a long awaited first time. For many reasons, we had delayed the moment and when it arrived ... we took it as a career in the background, as a means to hug each other and not let us escape.

No previous dates, too much flirtation or soft romance. Straight to bed and from there, everything started. He liked to say that we had sealed the deal, and possibly he was right.

The fever that Jax had caused me had not dissipated with time, as it had to happen to other couples, quite the contrary. Eventually we fell in love, but our intimacy continued to be as potent as that first time, causing us to meet, touch, or smell the other's trigger an explosive reaction each time we were together.

I was surprised to feel the desire to vibrate through my blood, even lying on the hospital bed, full of pain, bitterness and devices connected to my battered body. Jax opened my flesh like a sharp knife, for many reasons that went beyond love.

The fear we shared. The anger and reproaches, the things he did and I accepted, the absences ... everything kept our flame out of control, destroying everything in its path.

I turned my head on the pillow, and I saw him go inside. The door of the room closed behind him and he was slowly approaching, with that gaunt way of walking that characterized him so much. He wore a black sweatshirt under his cut and a dark cap on his head. As I drew back my visor, I could see a dark shadow beginning to show under his right eye, which would soon be completely purple.

He sat down on the chair next to my bed and took my hand. I made no attempt to move, but I let him bring my fingers to his mouth and kiss them. He stroked his cheek with my hand, nailing at me incredibly sad and full of rage blue eyes.

—Babe... —he whispered hoarsely, saying nothing more.

Voices were still heard behind the closed door of the room, but I did not ask whether the fight had ended on its own accord or because someone had mediated. I did not care... actually, at that moment I felt like an empty shell that someone had left forgotten, lying in the street. I could not find emotions or feelings inside me, however much I wanted to look for them.

Slowly, for every slight movement made me uncomfortable, I touched with my fingers Jax's face, which remained still, grateful that I would finally touch him of my own free will. I licked my lips, moistening them to try to find the mood that would lead me to say a few words.

—Who did that to you? — asked in a muffled voice. The vocal cords burned me when I used them, after a long silence.

Jax denied in reply, leaning closer to the bed to support her arms.

—It doesn't matter. —His fingers found my disheveled hair, and began to comb it affectionately. —Aurora, listen to me, no matter how bad it seem... you and I are going to get out of this. Together, okay? You have to trust me, babe. I need you to put all your faith... and your confidence in me. Believe that I can solve it.

—Together?

—Just you and me —Jax repeated, firmly, illuminating a face that was set with dark shadows. I had seen that expression before, and had never foretelled anything good. —I'm going to fix this, Aurora. I promise. I'm going to give you a wonderful life.

I smiled, not expressing any kind of emotion with the rest of my face. Without joy or rejoicing. I did not feel protected by his words, nor did I believe in his good intentions, because I couldn't.

—And how are you going to fix it, Jax? —I clapped my tongue, resting my hands on my belly, exhausted from all that situation. —With Glocks? Or AK? Is that how you're going to fix it?

—Babe, please... please don't do that.

—And how long will it take you to pay for that solution this time? Fourteen months? Two years?

—Aurora, please. —He put a hand through his eyes, snorting concealed behind his fingers. He looked around for a second, perhaps fearing that some curious ear would have heard my words. —You're not the one talking, darlin'. It is the pain and the rage. I understand, I feel it too. You're angry and you need to hit something. I get it. I know. But don't say those things... because that is not gonna happen. I'm not going to walk away from you, Aurora. I'm not going to jail again. I love you.

We both knew that was a promise he could not make.

—When the doctor took me to the operating room... I heard you talk to Gemma. —I waited for the tears to return to my eyes at that moment, but it did not. As I said before, I could not feel anything at all. —You swear to God, you would leave me.

I had learned to recognize Jax's nervous gestures. I knew when he was angry, when he felt worried and also when he was regretful of something. He played with his cap, until he turned the visor back to his eyes, giving that face that I loved so much more shadows than it already looked. He hesitated slowly, but firmly, and once more, leaned forward, seeking to make his whispers completely audible to me.

—I made promises to God because I was terrified of losing you, Aurora. I was afraid and said things I could never have done. —God didn't do his part... so I'm not going to give him anything. —He clasped our hands, and the cold of his rings set in my skin. —Don't worry about it, forget it. I will not let you go. Nothing or nobody, it's going to separate us.

—You say that because it's what you feel... or because your constant need to take the opposite of Clay?

I looked at the ceiling, wondering how many people would have heard my father and boyfriend screaming horrible things in the halls of the Saint Thomas. I had not heard it all... but Jax's bruised face and how little I had gotten through the door had been enough. Gemma had made Clay come and he had sought who to blame for my situation.

Maybe, because he was worried about me, or maybe, as a new excuse for rebelling against Jax. I hated being the pretext of the two to attack each other like fighting dogs, but that, I suppose, was one of my functions within the vicious circle of people with different interests that we had created.

At that moment, more than humiliated, offended or embarrassed, I was in a state of dangerous stillness. If Jax had agreed to my suspicions, if his love had been nothing but smoke and whatever I wanted to be with me would have been to harm Clay... I don't think it would have affected me. I could not be rational at the moment.

The chair creaked as Jax sat up. His two hands, large and hardened by a lifetime of hard work, in every way, took my face. He turned my head around to look at him. He was serious and also ... hurt. My cold words, my accusation veiled about the possible falsity of his feelings, had penetrated deeply into him.

—I killed a man for you, —he said in a whisper, so close that I felt his warm breath and the smell of tobacco emanating from his lips. —Nothing says endless love like capital crime.

—Would you do it again? —When he heard me, his blue eyes were fixed on me expectantly. In my mouth, coming out of nowhere, was born a question that we both had been waiting and fearing for a long time. —Will you kill for me again, Jackson?

Then, as his head moved to nod, his lips formed a single word: Yes.

Without doubting, without considering why I needed to get that promise from a moment where the pain and grief spoke for me. Jax confirmed what I already feared, he gave life to my greatest fears, and yet... I wasn't afraid to understand that this was serious. That was real. I knew he was capable of doing it. I knew he would do anything for me, not caring if it was fair or necessary. He would not mind the price to pay. For him, that I wanted to take revenge or simply find some comfort to my anger, it did not matter. He would not ask me for reasons. He would not ask questions.

He would act according to my wishes, because he loved me so much that nothing else mattered to him, and although to be aware of it must have frightened me, all I did was turn my head to the ceiling and close my eyes, impassive.

I had the answer I expected.

* * *

 _ **Note:**_ This is a future chapter. It is a moment that occurs after chapter 1. It has an initial part narrated in third person, and another, from the vision of Aurora. I'm really enjoying this story, and I hope you do too. Please, if you like, share your opinions with me, thank you!


	6. Punishment

_**THIS CHARMING LIFE**_

 _ **6\. Punishment**_

* * *

I concentrated on looking at the ceiling while they made a superficial search. I picked up the sticker with the word "visitor" printed in capital letters. I knew those steps by heart. The consciousness of knowing, exactly, what was going to happen, when, the questions they would ask me, and what I had to answer them, gave the task a certain aroma of tranquility.

That's made the visit most homey. Less cold. At least... that I liked to believe.

Every two weeks he visited Jax, who was serving fourteen months in Stockton. He alternated with his visits to my father, Clay Morrow, who was in the same institution. Along with them, lived in the shadow Bobby, Juice, Happy, Tig... big part of my family.

As I walked down the aisles, with the visible sticker and the metallic sounds of doors opening and closing as I passed, I recounted what had happened in the last few months. For starters, all the imprisonment was a hard and confusing process for me. The first night I returned home, after seeing Jax and the others being taken in the van, I cried myself to sleep. And when I woke up, I continued to cry, accompanying my whining with the babble of Abel, who asked for his father every day and at all hours.

As if that were not enough, the time when internal affairs agent June Stahl had taken Jax filled my nightmares. Without understanding why, that blond woman with a blank face had begun to take documents from her purse and to shout out loud in the middle of the workshop the dealings that Jax had signed with her. Telling the club. Turning into an enemy who would most certainly not leave the prison alive. I did not understand the technical issues, or maybe I did not want to. After the anguish we had with Otto and the real possibility that the RICO Law would take SAMCRO ahead, that new stab almost destroyed us.

I refused to think that Clay or any of the others could hurt him, and I tried to beg for him, but no one listened. In fact, they hurried to board the van so as not to face my tear-filled eyes and my question gestures. It was the first time I cried for my father, but Morrow looked down, kissed my forehead, and shut me up. Gemma gave me her comfort, her heart as broken as mine. At that moment, I despised every drop of my blood related to The Sons.

Until I got home and Phil, one of the prospect, gave me the letter.

Jax had planned all that, and the club knew it. So he was not going to shed his blood in some gray and dark corridor of Stockton, he would be protected by his own, who knew from the outset his plan. The ATF had fallen into the trap and stupidly believed that imprisoning them together would end Jackson Teller in a morgue bag. They were wrong.

Although, of course, the stay at Stockton was not being a rose road.

Finally, I crossed the last door to the visitors' room, and even before I entered, I saw him. Jax was standing by one of the tables, in her gray jumpsuit, black boots, and a woolen hat that covered her now short blond hair. I still found it hard to believe that his youthful mane had disappeared, although he accepted that the cut made him more man, and also that it was more practical for prison life.

He winked at me from a distance, and he opened his arms towards me as soon as I saw him, his face bright with joy and enthusiasm, despite the fact that he had not seen the sun for nearly seven months. He didn't look bad... a little thinner, but healthy. I took a deep breath. That was all that mattered.

I ran to meet him, just like all the other times, throwing myself into his arms and squeezing me against his body, seeking his scent under those unfamiliar clothes. His touch felt different when he did not wear his rings or vest, but his hoarse voice, the heat emanating from his body as we embraced him, returned me home. I held him with all my strength, until I had to let go of him when I heard him grunt.

—It's okay. —Jax smiled, giving me a short kiss and then another. —It's okay babe. It's worth a little pain if you grab me like that.

I bit my lip when I saw him put his hand on the lower chest. Underneath the T-shirt was a thick bandage that kept covered half-closed scars. Damn Russians, I thought. Every time I remembered that someone had attacked Jax, wounding him four times in the body, without anyone doing anything to remedy it, the fury was growing inside me. I had not seen him bleed, nor had he been transferred to the emergency room... but my imagination, and Clay's call to inform me, had been enough so that the image would not leave me for a single day.

—Hey, it's okay, fine —he repeated, taking a seat on the table and wrapping his hand in mine. —Your revenge face is very hot, sweetheart, but take it off. Seriously, I'm good.

—But you solved it? Are you going to retaliate —I lowered my voice as much as I could, and Jax gave me a warning gesture with his blue eyes.

—We're good boys who have made mistakes, babe. Those mistakes have taken us to jail and now, we are behaving not to lose the privileges or delay the exit. Do you remember that?

I grunted and looked down, but he stroked my neck, motionlessly telling me to put my eyes on him again.

—Everything is fine. I am fine, and things will be arranged in a clean way and will not splash anyone. —I did not believe him for a second, but those were not subjects we could talk about in the jail room. —Let's talk about something else, please.

—Ok... because that's club issues and girls can not comment, right?

Jax composed a ladino smile, nodding as he approached to be closer to me.

—That is darlin'. Be a good Old Lady and don't occupy your little mind with these things.

I punched him in the bíceps. We both laughed and hugged each other tightly. I tried to clear my mind, to remember that there were things I had to tell him and little time to lose.

—Abel asks about you all the time. —I said, letting his hands run down my arms, throat and sides. I could imagine Jax's need for contact, because I felt it too. I tried to focus on talking, before falling into the temptation to throw myself into his mouth. —Gemma and I have told him daddy is working away, but that he will be back very soon.

—Daddy dies for going home. —His forehead fell on mine, with a tired sigh that snatched away any remaining good humor. —I'm going to reapply for the permit, Aurora but I don't think I have any chance of getting out of here in time

His hand then settled on my belly. I was pregnant, I knew just when Jax was completing her first week of confinement, and although I considered concealing her as long as possible, I realized that maybe knowing would help her find a reason to go unnoticed, behave like a model prisoner, and count the Days remaining to come out with something optimistic on its horizon. The news pleased him and made him melancholy in equal parts, he was going to lose many things, but he had many more to look forward to. With tenderness, she ran her hands over my belly, smiling at the slight undulating movements.

—Hi there, little man —Jax whispered, cracking my heart a little more. —Daddy didn't expect you to come when he served his sentence. I sorry, Aurora ... I promise I will not miss anything as important as this. Never.

—Gemma will stay with me —I replied, pretending to sound like a practical solution. Jax denied it.

—I'm sorry for that, too. —He clutched my belly more tightly, bending down to kiss him with devotion. —And you, monster number two. Forgive your old man for not being the first thing you see when you open your eyes.

—He'll understand —put my hand over his, smiling unreservedly, as if inside I felt no emptiness and loneliness. —We'll wait for you.

—It was not supposed to be that way, Aurora. This time... it had to go well. This time it had to be perfect.

—It will be.

We shut up, because continuing to remove certain things from the past would only make the little time left for us to be together, to become sour. I showed Jax the last ultrasound and he smiled, at last without having to pretend to see something he could not decipher. Our son was already big enough and he was formed so that he could distinguish it. When I told him that the small photograph had already passed the security check, he put it in his pocket.

—No doubt he's well armed, —he snorted, pulling me to get me even closer. We kissed, slow and wet... a guard cleared his throat.

—It seems you can't do anything else.

—Are you challenging me? —he wrapped my hair in her fist, touching me incessantly, as if she could not stop herself. —You still have one in the oven and you're trying to get me another?

—A girl, perhaps.

Jax lowered her head. He moistened his lip with his tongue and I swallowed. He recognized that look, that warm gesture, previous to the excitement that normally carried us to the bed... or any other surface that we could take as a point of support.

—Well, babe... it's been almost seven months now... when I put my hands back on you, I'll be so desperate that it might just make you triplets.

—Poor Jackson. —wrapped my arms around her neck. —Is the wait too… hard?

—Very, very hard. You have no idea how much hard I feel right now.

—For me, too —sighed, for it was true. Our sex life was active enough to paralyze it completely. —I miss you so much Jackson.

—I miss you too babe. —With his forehead against me, blue eyes narrowed. —Is it still quiet in Charming? Is everyone well? The Club house?

I nodded. He had heard something about a new sheriff, for Wayne Unser had only the energy left to remain in the post, they said in the department. For all the rest, an unusual peace had settled in our streets, without rivalries, shootings or wars of any kind. Anyway, there was always someone from the club nearby, not for protection... but as a friend arm. For whatever he would need, he had a Son with whom he could count.

—Things are going good. —I gave him a soft kiss, and as it seemed to have been very serious, I decided to try to raise my spirits a bit... in my own way. —Actually... you should worry about other things.

—Like what?

He raised his eyebrows and I knew he had all his attention.

—Are not you afraid that if I were alone for so long, something happens to someone else?

—With another guy? —Jax curled his lips in a sly smile. He ran his hand down between my legs. —And what else can to replace me here?

I concentrated all my efforts on avoiding to close my eyes and moan. It had been so long since I had touched it that way... so long...

—Counting with Rat nearby is very hard, Jackson. He is so young, with so many aspirations...

He nodded with pity, as if he could not blame me. He did not let himself be fooled for a second, and I praised that he was sufficiently sure of himself -and me- to be confident that our relationship was strong enough to make jokes about fidelity.

—After seven months here, even I would look at him with different eyes. —Jax ran his hand over his face, hiding a smile.

We got the first notice. The visitation time was over and my chest contracted, as I always did when a new separation was interposed between us. In a hurry, I began to tell him all sorts of things, my work, the ultrasounds and medical tests, that the nausea had practically passed... Jax nodded and pretended that all this string of nonsense interested him. He asked me if he was letting me help, if I had the club in case I needed access to money or some practical things.

—Opie takes care of most everything, as you asked, —informed him. —He has stored your motorcycle in the TM, to bring it in the truck the day you leave.

—And my cut? Do you still have it?

—It's in the house, don't worry.

I also informed him of some novelties without much importance. I kept trying to get in touch with my mother, who had sent me a completely useless box of pink baby clothes, but no letter, note, or intention to visit me to make Jax's separation less harsh. Against all I could have thought, Gemma had behaved like a mother to me, leaning on me, being aware of my needs and being a rock against which to cry when I needed her. It was my father's wife, she told me. And she was also the mother of my partner. That made us family.

The two of us had become virtually inseparable, sharing Abel's care and waiting to see those we loved to go free.

—I've brought you more notebooks and pencils, so you can keep writing your secret memoirs. —This time, it was me who gave him an eloquent gesture with my eyes. —Opie sent you a card for your birthday... and hopes you find his words inspiring.

Jax understood. He nodded once. Information of the club, alliances that were broken and reinforced, names to go to if necessary. After the incident with the Russians, the whole club had mobilized to ensure that their VP did not touch again. Something that I appreciated.

—And you brought me something else —he raised her blond eyebrow, and my face turned pink. —That is a yes?

—Jax Teller, you're a grown man.

—I'm an adult man, yes, and I'm tired of squeezing my dick under the sheets of the fucking bed in the cell. Even the memories are over after so many months, Aurora, I need new inspiration, so tell me... —His two hands covered my wide waist, a mocking smile on his lips. —Did you bring me anything else?

Surrendered to the evidence that she was going to get away with it, I snorted, and ... I nodded. I was ashamed to think that when the guards searched the bag with personal belongings I had brought to Jax, they would also find... my gift. He had insisted that being prison officials had seen it all, but for me it was a first time.

Something I never imagined I would do.

—Besides things for you, yes, I've brought you something else. —he bit his lip, drawing closer, hoping to hear it from my mouth. Damn bastard I loved him enough to did something like that. —Panties. Mine. My panties.

—I hope you didn't wash them before.

—That's disgusting Jax! —He laughed, slapping me on the ass that caused the guard's second warning. He dropped his hands for a few minutes, before turning back to them. —Really? Dirty panties?

—I'm very lonely, darlin'

—I'm sure that with that face you could easily find someone to comfort you.

He laughed again, with those hoarse laughter I liked so much. Then we looked into each other's eyes, seriously, without jokes that would make the moment more bearable. He caressed my face carefully. Behind us, the metallic noises, the low voices and instructions followed, reminding us of where we were and who we were.

—I'm so sorry, babe. I did not want this for you.

—But I accept it. —And how true it was, I was firm in my words. —This club is part of me, father, my man, my blood. This is my life, Jax. It's who I am now. It has taken me a long time to find a place, I will not give up on it even if things are complicated.

—You're strong Aurora. You're very strong.

—I'm your old lady.

Jax nodded proudly, wrapping me in his arms again and squeezing me hard against him despite the pain that his scars caused. He told me that he loved me and I answered him. He swore that when it came out things would be different for us, and I told him I knew. When he looked at me again, his eyes full of hope and regret in equal measure, he faltered for a few seconds, regretting to miss the birth of our son, lamenting the time wasted behind the bars we could not recover.

—Don't waste your time here. —rubbed my face with my fingers, smiling at him. —Read some books, do exercise... relate to people who are bigger and more resilient than you. Don't get in trouble, Jax. Don't let them provoke you, or believe you have to prove anything, because you're not. Good behavior, no matter what.

—That sounds like someone's been getting advice from Gemma.

—I'm also a mother of the club now. — I trailed my fingers to my belly, playing a letter I would only use in desperate moments. —I want my man out. On the other side of my bed, do you understand?

—Yes, ma'am. Understood.

He kissed me hard, over and over again, then the visited ended definitely and he had to stop touching me, pulling away from my body and smiling when all he wanted was to hit the walls with his fists. I saw all the rage concentrated in his eyes, the urge to fight and demand, but he did not. He remained motionless, accepting that I was leaving and that he, had to stay.

—Good behavior, —Jax said, taking his right hand to his chest. —I promise, sweetheart.

—Be careful, —was all I could say, walking toward the exit. —Please Jax... be careful.

—Let people help you and take care of you outside, do you hear me, Aurora? I know you're independent and you do not like being controlled... but knowing that you're protected is the only way I can be quiet in here.

—Come soon. —The door closed behind me, and Jax's image was cut by the iron bars. —Come soon... and protect me yourself.

—I promise. —He said me. The guard grabbed me by the shoulder, urging me to move down the hall. Jax hurried over to the bars, forcing me to plead. —Eh eh! Don't touch her. She is leaving, okay? Don't touch her.

—Get out the door, —the officer warned, pointing at him with his finger. —Back off, Teller.

Jax obeyed raising her hands and the guard stepped away from me. I smiled at him, telling him that everything was fine, even if it was not quite true.

—I love you.

—I love you too.

I heard her answer out loud as I made my way to the car, ready to return to Charming and a life that had not stopped in spite of everything. The week would pass, and everything would start again...

Just seven more months.

* * *

 _ **Note:**_ I'm back! I have been slow to post, but between my other obligations and persistent back pain, I have hardly written anything in these last two weeks. I hope this chapter will please. As I said... I will relate future moments with others present, so that history is taking shape, more drabble type, than chapters. Thus it becomes more interesting and remains always in the air the question of... what has happened to get there?

Today, he has taken us to Stockton, I really hope you like it and encourage me to leave your comments, theories, ideas, impressions... or anything else. Thank you for following me and making history as a favorite. See you next time!


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